


Life and Death

by wallpatterns



Category: Original Work
Genre: Also I have no idea how ao3 works so rip, F/F, I Do, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Maybe if i eat enough oreos i wont need validation, but like, comments are appreciated my dudes, not to say i need validation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 15:07:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15584622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallpatterns/pseuds/wallpatterns





	Life and Death

I sit still, my gaze outlining the trees outside of the window, and burrow into the booth. 

"Coffee?" A voice asks and I jump. Somewhere inside me a bird flutters against my chest, its wings tickling my ribcage. Calm down, I tell myself. Just calm down.

"Yes please," I say instead, my shaking hands accepting the steaming cup. The waitress's shadow looms over me and I think about other looming shadows- about my father and his callused palms, about Preacher Harold and his white pressed collar, about my own blood stained hands earlier that night- and I grimace. Monsters always look better locked away inside closets and the nightmares of children. Up close, they look entirely too much like the reflection found inside mirrors.

"Sir," the waitress says and I look at her. Her eyes, a watered down version of Van Gogh's Starry Night, stick out like headlights against her leathery skin. She sighs and it weighs down her entire body- as if she was a balloon slowly deflating- and smiles. Only one corner of her mouth curls up. The rest remain motionless.

Without asking she lowers herself into the seat across from me. Her skin melts- sagging against the booth listlessly. She pants like a dog, wheezing at the effort. "You don't look so good." She says. Her eyes twinkle.

"No," I respond and again I think about monsters and masks. "Neither do you."

Her smile deepens. Wrinkles pull taut over her face to reveal a gummy grin. "No one does," she insists. "Once they've been touched by Death."

I jolt from my seat, my ears and heart burning. She knows, a voice in my head whispers. She knows, she knows, she knows. "What-"

"No need to look so frightened, dearie. Her children always recognize each other."

My mother, I remember, was born in the midwest- had died in the midwest- her white gown too big on her small frame when we buried her. "I don't know what-"

"Of course you don't," she insists. "But that's because I haven't told you yet."

The cup of coffee burns in my hand. "Look," I begin slowly. "Whatever you want from me- cash, clothes, I don't care. You can have it. What happened tonight-"

"-was destiny," she cut in. "It was willed by Fate herself. She's a terrible conversationalist, you know."

I slump back in my seat. "Fate?"

The woman hums, a lonely white whisker flickering on her chin. "If you're done asking questions, sweetheart, we can begin."

"Begin what? What's going on? Who are you?"

She sighs and there's a brief flash in her eyes. "You will need to know, of course, the semantics. The reason why Death is Death."

Laughter bubbles in the back of my throat. "You're senile," I say.

Her face softens. "Most likely," she says quietly, "We all are. Now listen carefully."

I stare at her, waiting for her to continue, but she remains silent, her eyes drilling holes into mine. 5 seconds becomes 10 which becomes 20 before she lunges across the table, her long fingers wrapping around my wrist with a toothy smile.

"Your first lesson begins now."


End file.
